


Laird

by happywitch416



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, News headlines, look seb is in a kilt with a billowy shirt just like those romance novel covers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24949093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happywitch416/pseuds/happywitch416
Summary: Inspired by a book cover and a conversation with a friend. Behold.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Sebastian Vael
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Laird

It hit the early morning papers like a landmine. Not just the tabloids, with snarky taglines and subpar photos, but the honest to the Maker Kirkwall Times. It outdid all the Divines latest reforms and the fire in the warehouse district. "PRINCE OF STARKHAVEN CALLS YOU TO KNEEL: even in his off time he plays a laird." He guffawed at the headline, in what coastal backwater did they find this hack? The bold lettering had left little to the imagination but the image said a thousand more. The deep black of the mask above the billowing white shirt, just enough undone to make your jaw ache, enough to know that was the point. The red kilt sat low on his hips, one thumb hooked into its waist as he stared into you past the dark figure before him. "It was the boots, Choir Boy. You should have changed them." Varric chuckled softly and let it slide into the pile of papers for later and started on the pile that would irritate Bran the most. 

A disheveled Hawke appeared later, tugging at the straps of her armor, arms full of his mail. Varric raised an eyebrow, grateful the damn crown was on its stand. "I didn't want to follow Bran. Mail?"

She let it fall on to his desk and she began to pace. One breath, then another and Varric bit the inside of his cheek. "Makers Balls, Hawke, is that you in the picture?" 

The mumbled obscenity and a haphazard nod was all the confirmation he needed. He counted, backward in what little dwarven he knew. He made it to three when the door burst open and Hawke dove into an open cabinet. " Varric! Tell me you saw it!" 

"Rivaini, who could miss it?" He picked up the lightest envelope as she settled against his desk. He recognized the neat script and wondered what he was asking under the table that required using Hawke as a go-between. He flipped it open. 

Isabela leaned over the edge brows creasing as she read it too. "No." She looked stricken. "Varric, he doesn't mean you can't make this a story."

He crumbled it and deftly tossed it into the fireplace. "Some stories are too easy." Isabela pouted but he laughed at the glimmer that danced into her eyes. 

"Well, that no wasn’t addressed to me." She disappeared out the door and slammed it shut behind her. 

Hawke sank to sit on the edge of the cabinet, Varric's duster and court robes tangling her hair before her head sank into her hands a moment. "Thank you, Varric." She said wearily before shoving herself to her feet. "Now to stop Isabela. If she can be." 

"Hawke" he called after her, her hand freezing on the door frame. "Some burn out better if you ignore them."

She gave him a grin over her shoulder. "But do you believe that?" He shook his head chuckling. "And its not laird" she yelled back at him. He was still laughing as he picked up the paper to read the article. Bran found him, head thrown back and roaring with glee, the paper now covering the entirety of his mail strewn desk. 


End file.
